Winter's Night Still Warm
by FallinDeath
Summary: Erik/Charles - Charles is the uke son of the pack's Alpha and is about to enter into his first heat cycle to find a mate. But his father is aging and will not be able to hold his position as Alpha for much longer. To avoid his own death at the feet of a challenger his father offers up Charles in a mating. MPREG, M/M
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, character names, nor anything pertaining to the X-Men universe. I profit in no way. Places are made up. Events and setting inspired by the book _A Companion to Wolves_ written by Sarah Monette and Elizabeth Bear, and also my own fanfiction _Wolves_.**

Warnings: Mpreg, M/M

Author's Note: This has been crawling, nay _slithering_ around in my head for a while now and I couldn't stand it anymore. So here it is. Things will probably seem rushed, but I'm not terribly concerned with that. Mostly I just wanted to put it to paper, so to speak, and get it off my mind. Happy reading. Please remember to comment - let me know what you think.

Chapter One

Charles walked quickly from his father's Heall. He knew the time was drawing near, but he didn't want to be a part of the discussions going on in the Wolff Heallen at that very moment. He was of age now. His father was old, too old. He would not be able to hold the allegiance, the loyalty of the pack for much longer. The only thing that would stop the pack, and other wolf packs from challenging and killing his father for his position of Alpha would be to offer up a mating. Strong, aspiring wolves of all qualifying ages would be arriving from the brother packs. All of them willing to fight to the death for the chance at being Alpha of their own pack. Charles was just an afterthought. As the uke son of the Alpha he could not challenge his father to take his place. He was, along with the position, nothing more than a prize.

That was how he felt, though others tried to give him hope otherwise. From the time he was born he'd had to become used to the gazes of all dominant wolves. When he grew into a young man and his pheromones began calling to them searching for a mate, ha had to suffer their leers, their covetous gazes. All of them wanted him for one reason or another; at least their wolf sides wanted him. Having him meant power. Charles was certain that was all he would ever mean to any of them.

His first _heat_ was approaching and all suitors who were willing to take the risk were on their way. In fact, his father expected the suitors from Krafvlen in two days' time.

It was midday, the sun was out high in the clear blue heavens, but the air was frigid. In Akkvar the air was always frigid, even in summer. Now they were nearing the end of the summer months and very soon after they would be in the thick of the harsh, dark winter. That's how he knew—they all knew—his _heat_ would come upon him very soon. His body was already preparing to accept a seme's seed. The long winter months served as a kind of hibernation—a time in which the pup or pups could grow healthy and strong inside him while he rested in preparation for the birthing in the spring. Ideally. Winters were always harsh. Food is scarce. The long dark months when the sun is mostly gone from their side of the world is not always as restful for bearing ukes as they are meant to be. For the most part, packs are shut inside the Wolff Heallen together for safety and survival. Charles looked forward to that not at all. He had no idea who might win him—who he might be shut in with for seven months.

Before, as he was growing, learning his skills as a warrior like all the others, such time in the Wolff Heallen was enjoyable. He had his Shield brothers then. Three other young wolves that he was to stick with through any battle—fighting together, watching each other's backs. _Fight for the wolves you're with_. Always. Shield brothers were inseparable. As young pups in training they become drawn to each other and form bonds of love and trust so unbreakable that if one died in battle they could never be replaced.

Every winter Charles spent sleeping in a corner of the grand Heallen wound up in furs and entwined with his Shieldmates. This winter would be the first he'd spend away from them. He would have a loft room alone with his mate.

Most wolves could choose their mates, fall in love, whatever they wanted. If they felt drawn to each other they would mate, be happy. As a uke son of the Alpha Charles didn't get that luxury. He had to kneel naked and alone in a circle of strange wolves while they growled and fought over him like a piece of meat in lean winter. The scent of his _heat_ driving them mad while he keened and writhed and leaked pheromone-laced arousal down his thighs.

He felt sick thinking about it. The only good thing about it was that he would have to endure only one mating. In old tradition a mating for position as Alpha allowed several of the strongest wolves to come forward and mount the bearer. Alpha was decided by whose seed was successful in impregnating the poor bitch.

Charles shuddered. He could only imagine what that must have been like. To be held helplessly in the rapture of _heat _while one ruthless, lustful brute thrust into him after another. He paled and stumbled. Reaching out he caught the wooden rail of a fence and stood hunched over while the nausea passed.

"Charles?" It was Alex. When he looked up Raven and Sean were not far behind. His Shield brothers. Never was he happier to see them. "Are you all right?" Alex's voice was low, soothing, and his face so full of concern. Charles smiled. Raven and Sean were also looking at him as if the slightest sound would startle him and make him bolt. Like him, they all knew what was going on in the Heallen.

Charles shared a look with Raven, his sister in blood, his Shield sister in battle. His twin. "I don't want to be here now," he said attempting a smile. They all nodded.

"The Falls?" Raven suggested sharing a sly smile with Alex and Sean.

"_The Falls_," they chorused at the same time.

The High Raek Falls were miles away. Too far away for such a small group to go on their own in these treacherous lands. But his little group had been there many times. It was their private escape made more exquisite because it was forbidden to go off on their own, especially without telling anyone.

"Absolutely," Charles smiled brightly for the first time in what seemed like months. "Let's go."

The four of them ducked behind one of the barns in the field out of sight of the Wolff Heallen. The transformation was swift. A haze of silver mist and then four large wolves burst into the long grass racing away from the walls of the Heallen, away from the safety of the pack.

* * *

The four young wolves lay stretched out on the flat rock. Even with winter on its way in a few short months the sunlight bathing the large rock overhanging the pool was warm and bright. Charles and Alex were sitting close together in human form again, talking and sharing jokes. Raven and Sean were still in wolf form bathing in the warmth of the sun. At one point Alex tossed a pebble at the dozing wolves. It hit Sean in the rear flank and he yelped and rolled over into Raven. Alex and Charles roared with laughter as Raven nipped Sean with her sharp teeth and the two rolled and scuffled over the side of the boulder. Before long the two wolves were playing and racing in the shallows of the riverbank.

Charles watched them go, a fondness in his eyes, when Alex cleared his throat.

He looked back at his Shield brother.

"Alex?"

The young wolf rubbed the back of his neck. There was a deep set frown on his face as he mulled over his thoughts and what he wanted to say. Charles didn't push him knowing he would talk in his own time.

Eventually, Alex met his eyes.

"I'd fight for you, you know," he said, his voice low. "If I thought I had any chance at all of winning. I'd fight for you."

Charles was stunned. They'd grown up together, fought together, bled together. They trusted and cared for each other like blood brothers. It didn't surprise him that his Shield brother thought about it. But it warmed his heart to hear.

"Oh, Alex," he said, and his voice trembled just the smallest bit. To not have to mate with possibly a complete stranger—to have someone he knew cared about him and not the position of Alpha…it would have been nice. But Alex was right. He stood no chance of winning. "Oh, my friend," he reached over and touched Alex's cheek. "I know you would." He blinked swiftly to keep his eyes from watering. "And I wish very much that you could."

Charles reached down and gripped his friend's hand. "But knowing you would do so is more than enough. Thank you."

Alex made a face and looked away. "It's _not_ enough. If I were stronger I could be a suitor, I could win you. Then you wouldn't have to suffer for the rest of your life."

Charles swallowed thickly. "It's not certain that it will be all bad," he said attempting a smile. However, he had a feeling he knew where Alex was going with this.

"Come on, Charles," Alex nearly growled. "We all know _he_ is going to step forward as a suitor. No one in our pack can defeat him."

"_No one in our pack_," Charles repeated quickly trying to calm his own heart of such fears even as he tried to assuage Alex's. "There are many packs, many suitors will come." He blinked and a tear slid down his cheek. "And I've prayed to the gods every day that one of them can beat him."

Alex pulled up the hand gripping his and held it to his lips. "I am sorry, Charles. I'm not helping you at all speaking my fears to you out loud. Fears that are already your own. I am sorry."

Charles shook his head, letting his friend know that he didn't blame him for anything. How could he? He couldn't, not when Alex's concern was for him.

"My friend," Charles quickly wiped the tear from his cheek and smiled watching Raven and Sean's return. The red and brown wolves were drenched as they splashed back toward the boulder through the shallows. "The last thing I want to do right now, here of all places, is think about what _might_ happen. Come on." He got to his feet and held a hand out to Alex. When he pulled him up they both leapt off the rock into the river. When they emerged they were wolves again—wolves had such simpler cares. Things that worried their human counterparts barely held a candle to the thrill of the run, the bond of the pack. The four wolves raced the riverbank, the woods, tangled with each other in the long grasses of the open fields, barking, growling, and playing. Not caring. For the first time in a very long time nothing mattered but each other.

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, character names, nor anything pertaining to the X-Men universe. I profit in no way. Places are made up. Events and setting inspired by the book _A Companion to Wolves_ written by Sarah Monette and Elizabeth Bear, and also my own fanfiction _Wolves_.**

Warnings: Mpreg, M/M

Author's Note: Here's the next little bit. Please take the time to leave a small comment. It makes me smile. Happy reading!

Chapter Two

It was nearly dark when they returned to their village and the Wolff Heallen beyond. His Shieldmates went to their family homes in the village to change their filthy clothes. If they all entered the Heall looking like they'd rolled in mud everyone would know where they'd been. They were reluctant to leave him, but it appeared no one had noticed their absence and Charles waved them off with a smile. When he entered the Wolff Heallen he was hit all at once by the loud ruckus, and delicious aroma of supper time. The Heallen was mostly one large hall with long, solid wooden tables and benches room enough for the entire pack and more to eat all at once. Three large hearths were centered in three of the walls, all of them roaring with life. Torches and braziers lit the hall fully. Charles could see nearly the entire pack was present, gathered for dinner. The servers were busy, hurrying to bring the food out of the kitchens to the tables. They were all younger pups who were not of age to mate yet, aside from Moira.

They helped Kayla Silverfox, the lead cook of their pack, to prepare and serve each meal. In a pack everyone worked, everyone had a place. Charles remembered those days well. They weren't so very long ago. Every pup when they were not busy training did their fair share of work in the kitchens before they earned their place as a warrior. It was not required to become a fighter, however, everyone knew that survival was better if each pup were prepared. Charles smiled at one of the servers in particular as she passed. Some wolves, like Moira, did not have the stomach for battle. He certainly didn't feel it made her weak in any way, but not all felt as he did. She didn't let it bother her, though. She threw all she had into every task—took pride in her work. It was one of the things Charles admired about her. If he were not the Alpha's son he would have been content working in the kitchens or the fields for the rest of his days as Moira would do. The only thing that stopped him from wishing that too strongly was that he would have missed out on the bond he shared with his Shield brothers and he wouldn't give that up for anything.

From a young age he and Moira had been friends, inseparable. They thought for certain they would bond in the same group when the time came. But when Charles bonded with Sean, Alex, and his sister Raven, Moira never bonded with any Shield brothers of her own. It happened sometimes. It was a sign that battle was never meant to be a suitable place for them. Charles was surprised that fate chose _him_ to bond and not Moira. If any wolf did not have a liking for killing, it was Charles, nor did any feel more out of place on the battlefield, in the training yard. That is not to say he lacked skill. The sword was at home in his hand. His wolf's fangs have tasted their share of blood, both human and troll. Charles had earned his warrior stripes after all.

At a young age he saved himself and his mother from a trellwitch. The black bands of the warrior were tattooed into the flesh of his left bicep that very night by his own father—his blade still steaming in the winter air with the trellwitch's black blood. Charles had been working beside his mother in the far fields gathering the last of the ripe wild berries that grew along the edges of their crops to the west. The sun was dangerously low. Cold and darkness were overtaking the land. They should have gone back with the other workers hours ago, but his mother insisted that she would not leave until they were done. Charles worked fast trying to get them out of there as quickly as possible; knowing no amount of talk or persuasion would budge the stubbornness of his mother.

The troll had come from underground practically under their feet, but it must have misjudged their exact location. Trellwitch's could mold the very stone of the earth, building tunnels and traps underneath the surface hidden from the most trained eye. When the ground slid away near their feet his mother lost her footing in her surprise nearly falling. In desperation Charles lunged managing to grasp his mother's flailing hand and pulled her to safety. All wolves knew that if you fell into a trellwarren there was no coming back out. Angered that its easy meal was denied, the black hulking beast crawled to the surface. Charles screamed at his mother to run and not look back. She didn't listen, she never listened. When the trellwitch lunged for the she-wolf Charles pulled his training sword from his belt and hacked off the clawed hand reaching for his mother. The screeching bellow hurt his ears, and made his very core shake and tremble with fear as the trellwitch turned on him. It towered over him dripping pale, milky saliva that melted the layers of frost on the ground wherever it landed. When that great maw opened with a roar Charles thrust up with all his might sending the sword up through the trellwitch's jaw and out the back of its skull. Acidic saliva splashed over his hands burning them. He yanked the sword out and then with one swing cut the head from the bulky shoulders. The head rolled at his feet facing up. Black eyes glistened in the fading light seeming to stare at him, hating him.

They'd been lucky. Lucky that the troll had misjudged—a mistake rarely, almost never made. Lucky there had been only one. The fight had not gone unnoticed. Soon he was surrounded by his pack as they sniffed out the area for any other danger and tended to his mother. His father hoisted him up on his shoulders bellowing and boasting his pride in his uke son. His son the witch-cleaver. Charles hated the name immediately. But he allowed his father to parade him around, and sat silently through the tattoo branding. It wasn't until hours later that anyone noticed or cared that his hands had been severely burned. By then no amount of tending could keep away the scarring. He was only thirteen. The youngest in all their history to kill a full-grown troll single-handedly. It brought great honor to his father, but Charles never felt more than simple relief that he and his mother had not been killed.

Charles looked down at his hands as he walked along the edge of the Heallen hoping to avoid anyone's attention until he could slip upstairs and change his clothes. The entire surface of his hands had burned but thankfully the only places that scarred were the areas the troll's saliva had hit his flesh directly. His father told him they were a warrior's pride. Proof that when death came knocking he'd survived. Charles would never say he regretted having the knowledge he'd needed to save his mother and defend himself. He'd really just rather that death did not come knocking again. Ever.

Charles hurried toward the stairs away from the Heall and the pack. No one called out to him so he was certain he could make it without being seen by anyone but Moira, and she wouldn't tell anyone. He entered a long, wide hall lined with storage areas to his left and to his right were the communal baths. Just as he was passing the curtained entryway a large, meaty hand shot out, gripped him by the nape of his neck and hauled him into the steamy baths. A startled cry escaped his lips and another hand clapped over his mouth as he was slammed up against a wall. Charles clenched his eyes closed trying to calm his fear. He knew the scent of this wolf all too well, he didn't need to see him or the cruel light in his dark eyes.

The man was nearly the size of a troll and he used all his heavy bulking mass to press the much smaller uke tightly into the wall. Charles could hardly breathe with the hand over his mouth and the weight compressing his lungs. His breathing through his nose grew short and desperate. He couldn't help the small whimpering sound that filled his throat.

"Oh, Charles, Charles," the deep voice sweetly mocked. Charles could hear the satisfied smile in those words. He clenched his eyes even tighter when one large hand pressed to his chest and rubbed its slow, sensual path down his body. Charles' breath hitched sharply when that hated hand rubbed over his groin. He could hear the other man sniffing him, scenting him, felt his nose brush the side of his throat where Charles' scent was strongest. Aside from the fact that he was practically suffocating, and being held and molested against his will, it was a mockery of a lover's touch. That's what frightened Charles the most. This wolf believed he had every right to lay claim on him, as if Charles was his already and the mating challenge was merely one last inconvenience. These little hidden moments had been going on since he was fifteen, but Charles had no idea how to make them stop. All the dominant wolves had their eyes on him, certainly. Many of them flirted with him, and on more than one occasion some had touched him or come onto him strongly. But always there was someone else around to pull them off of him, or their attentions were harmless enough that Charles could send a smile their way and all were content. But _this_ wolf always caught him by surprise. Always seemed to know when Charles would be completely alone, or when and where he'd be most vulnerable.

"Come on, Charles, let me see those pretty blues of yours," the deep voice soothed. Charles refused. He couldn't look at him. He couldn't stand to see the lust, the arrogance in the other man's eyes. Most of all he couldn't bear to see the deep-seated cruelty that had been there since they were children. But the other man did not take refusal well. The large hand rubbing gently against his groin gripped him harshly and squeezed. Charles' scream was barely audible behind his tormentor's hand. "Open your _fucking _eyes, Charles." The man's voice dropped the act of any kind affection and became instantly dangerous—hate-filled—the words punctuated with another harsh squeeze.

Reluctantly Charles gave in. He slowly peeked his eyes open but he stared straight ahead into the man's broad chest. He couldn't bring himself to meet the other's gaze and prayed that he didn't demand it.

"That's right, lovely," the deep voice was soothing again; satisfied by his submission. The cruel hand released its painful hold. "Now," a thick finger trailed down his cheek, "you've been off to places you shouldn't. You ought to know better than that, little brother. _Bad _things happen to ukes when they disobey the laws laid down by their betters." Charles really didn't like the way he said that. The large man chuckled. "I should—"

"_Cain_," a voice barked from the doorway. Relief soared through Charles' chest as Cain instantly released him and turned to face the newcomer. Logan stood there, a scowl on his rugged face and a hand on the hilt of one of his blades. Charles could have kissed Logan right then. Cain laughed deeply, a threatening sound in Charles' opinion, as he strode out of the baths. As he passed one large hand shot out and hit Logan square in the chest knocking him back several feet. It was witnessing such effortless strength like that that caused Charles to despair that anyone would be able to defeat his step-brother.

When Cain was gone, Logan turned to him. "Are you all right, kid?"

Logan was the only one who still called him that. He used to hate it because once he'd earned his warrior stripes he was considered an adult and it was an insult. But eventually he'd come to realize Logan did not mean it that way.

"_Kid_, did he hurt you?"

Charles startled. When did Logan get so close? Charles glanced up at him. His whole body was shaking now, but he managed a quick nod.

"All right," Logan said, gruffly. "Get up stairs and get cleaned up. Your father expects you at his side for dinner."

Charles nodded again. He turned to get to his room as quickly as possible, but at the doorway he stopped. "Thank you, Logan," he said quietly—it was all he could manage.

"Get out of here," Logan growled. "Thank me by being on time for supper."

Charles smiled. Logan was a mean bastard, but he was also one of the biggest softies when it came to dealing with females and ukes.

Once Charles was gone Logan headed back to the Heall. He made certain Cain was there and not upstairs attempting to catch Charles alone again. Logan had seen Charles walk in—watched him head for the stairs and get dragged into the baths. He didn't like what was happening to the Alpha's son. What their Alpha did was not uncommon. Offering up a uke son or daughter in a mating for the position of Alpha was a relatively peaceful solution for a succession over the pack. Wolves could die in the battle for the offering, they were violent after all, but they were more about proving one's strength and therefore their right to command obedience. Battles where Alpha's were challenged directly were bloodbaths because they were never just between the Alpha and the challenger. Those loyal to the Alpha and those backing the challenger inevitably got involved. They were tragedies. Many lives were always lost in that madness, and often times, innocent lives.

But that didn't make what was going to happen to Charles any less of a tragedy. Logan looked down the long table and met Cain's eyes. The large wolf grinned. Logan seethed. He hated the man. He knew of his cruelty—knew how much Cain despised his step-brother and had made it his personal vendetta to make certain Charles suffered. Logan did not want to think about what would become of the sweet uke when—_if, he amended, not wanting to seal Charles' fate—Cain won him for a mate._

Logan glared at the man long after Cain lost interest in their staring match. Gods help them all if Cain became Alpha.

_tbc..._ _please take a moment to leave a comment. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, character names, nor anything pertaining to the X-Men universe. I profit in no way. Places are made up. Events and setting inspired by the book _A Companion to Wolves_ written by Sarah Monette and Elizabeth Bear, and also my own fanfiction _Wolves_.**

Warnings: Mpreg, M/M

Author's Note: Here it is. Happy reading!

Chapter 3

"Do you want to talk about it?" Alex asked Charles the next day. They, along with Sean and Raven were serving their time chopping wood for the fires. Charles hefted the axe again and swung, splitting a log in two.

"No, Alex, I don't want to talk about it," he huffed.

"I can smell him on you," Alex trudged on. "Charles, if he—"

Charles lodged the axe in the base stump with a growl. "He didn't, all right? Logan stopped him. I'm fine." He almost walked away then, but knew he did not really have anywhere he could go without running the risk of finding himself alone in Cain's grasp again. Aside from that Kayla would have his hide for shirking his duty. He sighed and turned back to his shield brother. Alex only meant well. He was an undeserving target for Charles' frustrations. "I am sorry, Alex," he said, returning to pry his axe out of the stump. "I just _really_ don't want to talk about him."

Alex nodded finally after watching him closely for a moment. Of course—why discuss it when they both knew nothing could be done? Raven and Sean shared a worried glance between them before continuing their work.

Charles used to hate chopping wood. The action always seemed mindless and barbaric. Now, though, he was glad for the repetitive, rhythmic motion. He was feeling increasingly restless and irritable. His very flesh felt like it was crawling beneath his heated skin. He could sense the growing animosity amongst the dominant males in their pack—could feel their hunger amplifying through the pack sense. All were signs that his_ heat_ was very near. Gods, he couldn't believe this was happening to him.

A howl erupted in the distance and they all looked up.

"That's Hank, isn't it?" Raven asked, looking to where members of the pack were starting to gather at the main entrance to their village.

"Sounds like him," Alex said. "I think he and his shield brothers are patrolling today."

"What do you think it is?" She said, on the tip of her toes. All of them had stopped working.

Charles wiped the sweat from his brow, trying not to care. When Hank walked out of the trees with another man at his side, Charles turned away and hefted his axe again.

"Looks like Krafvlen's scout," Sean spoke up. Charles knew it was. The Krafvlen pack was due to arrive in the morning and the other packs very soon after that. He didn't care, or at least, tried to convince himself that he didn't.

"Mmm, he's handsome at least, Charles," Raven said, with a sorry attempt to lighten his mood.

Anger flared in his heart that his sister could say such a thing. As if it mattered who came. No one would be able to best Cain. Charles knew it, they all knew it. But he couldn't help but glance in the newcomer's direction, his curiosity piqued against his better judgment. The wolf speaking with his pack brothers was tall and slender. His hair was very light in color, and a strong chin displayed the scruff grown on his long journey. He was indeed handsome—a capable warrior, too, if the muscles of his arms were as strong as they looked. Charles remembered seeing the man briefly years ago at a wolfmoot, when all the packs had met together to renew good relations as was tradition. Charles had been much younger then and far more interested in meeting with all the wolves his own age than greeting and mingling with the warriors. This one had been one of those warriors, though fairly new to his stripes at the time. But Charles remembered those eyes watching him as he played with the younger wolves.

Almost as if sensing his regard the wolf looked over the gathered pack members and straight into Charles' soul. At least that's how Charles felt when that steely gray-green gaze hit him, searing him, leaving him feeling naked and vulnerable. Charles quickly wiped the sweat from his brow again to cover his insecurity, giving him an excuse to tear away from those eyes. Returning to his work he tried to ignore how he could feel the stranger's gaze penetrating his very flesh, tried to ignore the tension in his rigid shoulders and back until the Krafvlen scout was finally led away to meet their Alpha and partake of the pack's hospitality. Charles nearly collapsed with exhaustion when his muscles finally relaxed, the tension bleeding away leaving him limp and weak.

Raven looked at her brother with a knowing smile. "I like him," she said.

Charles scowled. "He is no different from any of them." He looked into the distance, into the thick forest surrounding their village, as if he could see them coming. The best, the strongest, the cruelest, the most arrogant that their brother packs had to offer were marching to Akkvar right that very moment. None of them cared for him; none of them wanted _him_, really. Charles was just the tool they needed to gain the power they craved. He imagined many of them would take one look at the size of Cain and decide neither Charles nor the position of Alpha was worth it.

Just as Charles was about return to his mindless task, Rogue came out of the Wolff Heallen and hurried over to them.

"Charles," she said. "Your father would like to speak with you."

Alex sent him a worried look. Charles sighed heavily. He knew this was coming. He and his father had not spoken much since the decision to offer Charles in a mating was made. He imagined his father wished to justify his decision.

He looked at his shield brothers.

"I will be right back. This won't take long."

Charles headed inside. One glance into the Heall told him his father, along with nearly all the dominant wolves of their pack had gathered to welcome the Krafvlen scout and hear what tales he brought with him across the ice lands. Kayla Silverfox, Moira, and the young wolves were all serving meat and ale to the nearly always hungry males. Charles met the eyes of his step-brother immediately. The cruel smirk on Cain's face made his skin crawl. The hulk of a man was sitting next to his father, knowing perfectly well that Charles would have to walk past him. On the other side of their Alpha sat the newcomer. Charles quickly avoided his gaze when the man looked up at his entrance.

Walking further into the Heall toward the long tables where the males were beginning to feast felt like walking into a den of sex and hormones. He could sense their physical desires and his own body's response. His blood heated and his body began to ache. By the time he reached his father he was panting for breath and struggling for the sake of his self-respect to stay under control. It was a task made nearly impossible as he could sense every set of eyes on him. A new scent filled his lungs and Charles nearly moaned out loud. The Krafvlen man's alluring scent was maddening. Sweat slid down the side of his face and he felt light-headed. His eyes were drawn to the dominant wolf against his will and Charles had the fleeting thought that the man was much more beautiful up close.

"Father," he practically gasped, ripping his eyes away from the newcomer, away from all of them to focus on the one wolf who did not desire him. He could feel the lust in Cain's eyes raking over his skin like a physical torment. Being so close to him more than any of the others nearly threw him into a panic.

"Please…you wanted to speak with me." Charles clenched his jaw and silently begged his father to take him away from them all.

"Charles, yes, of course," Brian Xavier stood and clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "Charles, I would like to introduce you to our brother from the Krafvlen pack. This is Erik Lehnsherr," Charles' eyes widened, "son of Jakob Lehnsherr(1), the Krafvlen Alpha. He honors us with his presence."

Son and heir to an Alpha. Why in the gods' world would he travel to take part in a mating when he could challenge his own father for the right of Alpha? If Erik were the strongest in his pack he could even inherit the right of Alpha without any challengers once his father began to weaken with age. Heirs usually did not risk the increased danger of a mating when their rise to Alpha—being born and bred from the strongest wolf in the pack—was practically assured within their own pack.

"For all the tales we hear of Charles the Witch-cleaver, I'm surprised to find him," Erik pointedly looked him up and down, "rather small." Chuckles of laughter sounded around the table.

Charles' cheeks flushed. His usual hot-headedness would have had him striking the man with his own snarky insults, but this room was driving him mad. He needed out.

"The pleasure, of course, is mine," Charles said quickly, looking to his father again. "Father, please."

"Yes." Brian stood from the table and all who were gathered bowed their heads in deference. "I will only be a moment, brothers."

Charles had never felt such relief as when his father put an arm around his shoulders and led him away from the Heall and up the stairs into the Alpha's private living quarters. Once the heavy door closed behind him Charles felt he could breathe again.

For the first time in a very long time Charles found himself alone with his father. They did not dislike each other necessarily; they simply had very little in common. The strongest, most dominant male warrior in the pack did not know how to treat his uke son when he was born. When Charles did not express much interest in his training, Brian felt the last thread that kept them together as father and son had been severed. This was why the night when Charles slayed the trellwitch to save himself and his mother had reawakened Brian's pride as a father. They hoped their relationship would grow from that undeniable bond between warriors. But by then Charles was old enough for dominant wolves to begin expressing their interest and Brian yet again found himself in a realm of the unknown. It was difficult to talk when the two did not understand each other at all and were too prideful to try.

Brian turned and looked at his son. "Charles," he paused. "We have not had a chance to speak since all of this ugly business began." Brian sighed and turned away sinking down into a chair with a weariness Charles did not know his father bore. "I can only hope one day you will forgive me."

"Father," Charles began, but the Alpha held up a hand.

"I never asked you what you thought—how you felt about all this. But," he put a hand over his heart, his face pained. "Your sister…"

"There is no need," Charles interrupted. The thought of his dear twin sister being offered up was unthinkable. "You made the only choice you could. There is nothing to forgive." As much as Charles hated the position he was in, he would never give up his sister to save himself. Knowing that with all his heart made it impossible to hate his father, even knowing Cain would be the one to win him.

Brian looked on his son with a new pride in his eyes. It seemed there _was_ something they could see eye to eye on, and though it did not erase all the bitterness or quench the fear, Charles felt he finally had his father's respect.

* * *

Endnotes:

According to the comic book fiction, Erik Lehnsherr was actually born Max Eisenhardt. His father's name was Jakob Eisenhardt


End file.
